First Blood
by Lady Luce
Summary: Dante gets his first taste of human blood and has to live with the consequences. OneShot.


First Blood

Lady Luce

_Disclaimer: Dante and everything Devil May Cry belong to Capcom._

_A/N: First of all no Dante is not Rambo. __Second of all it _is_ Dante; well it's supposed to be. I didn't type his name for most of the fic because I was considering calling him Tony instead of Dante because my inspiration for this came from the novels. The innocence he has in them was just rather intriguing… I'll explain more about that below wouldn't want to spoil it. Also I had him pictured quite young… maybe 17ish? _

_Warning this is VERY AU and OOC!!_

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The wail of a gunshot echoed down the street tearing through the dismal silence and blurred background noises of the underworld's seedy existence. The sound itself seemed to draw out indefinitely in the darkness swallowing all other noise from the world until only the ringing was left in his ears along with the deafening thrum of his own heart-beat. 

Eyes wild and impossibly wide he could only watch; couldn't move, couldn't run, couldn't even breathe as the reality of what had just happened – what he had just done – hit him. He was a murderer.

The gun in his hand shook violently his stranglehold on the weapon only intensifying as he watched smoke billow from the tip and vanish into the night air. His arm ached and the adrenalin was leaving him quickly and giving his mind back some semblance of coherence. With a horrified cry he threw the weapon away from himself as though he'd been burned though with what little strength he had it didn't go very far and clattered to the ground at his feet.

He stumbled back a few paces before he hit the wall and his legs finally gave way. He crumpled to the ground eyes still fixed on the gun and sucked in a breath knowing he should run; get away from this place before somebody found him. They'd be after him next; they'd kill him, all the street-rats and low-lifes who wanted the reward for disposing of this man's murderer. It was only a matter of time.

He found himself reaching for the gun again, shivering hands nearly dropping the weapon a second time before he finally got a hold of it and sat back with the weapon resting in his palm. Drawing his knees up and hugging them to his chest he raised the gun again watching it with some morbid fascination. He swallowed down the knot of emotions in his throat as he studied the cold steel.

_This is the life you chose, you have to get used to it_. Some callous, rational part of his mind was trying to encourage him, make him move away from the place, tell him that this was him now – there was no going back. But a tattered scrap of innocence which had been ripped to shreds that night was still holding on desperately as he attempted to convince himself that he could leave it all now and do something different. A swollen tear hit the back of his hand and it took him a moment to realize that he was crying.

Without thinking he raised the gun holding it on his knees pointing up at the sky and rested his forehead against the cooling barrel sobs racking his slender frame as he mourned his lost innocence.

Trembling hands slid the gun down rubbing his tear stained face along the barrel until it came to rest beneath his now upturned chin. The sobs had died to shuddering breaths which painted the night air in front of his face with steam. He shivered though it wasn't from the cold suddenly determined even as his lower lip trembled with unshed tears. He would die now, die and end it all then he wouldn't have to live with this.

He pulled back the hammer slowly and it locked into place with an ominous _click_. He gritted his teeth suddenly as a new thought hit him. He didn't even know whether he could die. Dante knew he was different, knew he couldn't be injured like normal humans, but could he actually die? He swallowed down those thoughts jaw clenched; he would find out now.

Closing his eyes he took a breath, held it then let it slip from between his parted lips as his finger rested against the trigger muscles tensed. He _should_ die; he should die for what he had done.

_Click. _

The sound resonated hollowly in the gun's empty chamber. He pulled the trigger again frustration mounting as he was met with the same response each time.

This time it was a burst of rage which sent the gun flying from his grasp, skittering across the darkened street. He slammed his head back against the wall probably damaging something and not really caring as an anguished scream tore from his lips. He was up in an instance, kicked the wall; pounded the hard stones with his fists until his knuckles bled then slumped against it again defeated.

Long moments passed by as he stood there breathing ragged and his heart-beat hammering in his ears, forehead pressed against the cold stone of the wall. A quiet calm seemed to have washed over the world and with it a sense of nothingness settled in his soul. Face devoid of emotion he hauled himself up and turned into the night; a flash of red and silver, then a silhouette slowly fading into shadows.

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_A/N: So yeah hope you liked it. As I was saying I think he acts more like he did in the DMC1 novel and well this really only fits into the novel-verse anyway. I was just wondering about how he first became a mercenary and whether when the whole thing began he decided to only kill demons. I mean until he made his name known he'd have needed to take more jobs to survive right? Dunno but just a random thought I had._

_Constructive criticism is VERY welcome!_

_-Luce_


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